The Devil Within
by Eternity And A Half
Summary: A lone survivor of the final Battle of Char is toyed with by a cerebrate. Can also be seen in Shattered Enigma's short story contest.


****

THE DEVIL WITHIN

Njord was not known for taking prisoners. In fact, he was considered to be the fiercest and most cruel of cerebrates, having fostered the Queen of Blades herself. Ironic though it was that he was now Kerrigan's most loyal minion, his separation from the Overmind had apparently not lessened his resolve. Indeed, he was the only cerebrate left alive, and his brood had mere hours ago led the Swarm to its greatest victory in its considerable history.

The Brood Wars had ended. And now, Njord was bored.

People tended to suffer when cerebrates became bored.

He sent out a psychic command to his children: **_bring me one alive._**

Although the Overmind was no more, Njord's power over his brood was not lessened; they were physically incapable of denying his command. He felt, with some satisfaction, the command transferring from him to the queens, from the queens to the overlords, down to tiniest broodlings whose energy had not depleted during the great battle that had been fought on this lonely space platform, high in orbit of the ashworld Char. 

Wanting to see the wreckage of his fallen foes himself, Njord seized the nearly non-existent mind of a zergling. Although such an influx of psionic power would cause the creature to die after his consciousness left its body, it was no great loss. His Queen's foot soldiers alone numbered in the billions; one so insignificant as a zergling would not be missed. 

He peered around with red-tinted eyes; they saw little other than dull, gray metal beneath the creature's claws and the infinite cosmos stretching to the stars beyond. The zergling's acute sense of smell alerted him to the presence of blood by the ton spilled to his southwest and northeast and his own mental faculties sensed psionic residue to the direct south, although each was relative as the platform hovered in a vacuum. 

He set the creature off at a galloping pace, towards the scent of blood. The Protoss, he knew, did not bleed, and a Terran would much better serve the purposes of the game he had in mind. Another command echoed from the surface of Char: **_follow._**

To an observer, the platform would have been an interesting sight then; obeying Njord's whim, his children streamed towards the body he had possessed. Mutalisks flapped their leathery wings above, crowing like some kind of demonic birds; Hydralisks came in tow, their serpentine bodies weaving in between the massive elephantine Ultralisks; Guardians lumbered behind, their growls echoing far ahead. All of them followed in conic formation behind a single, dog-sized zergling. Yes, the platform would have been an interesting, if terrifying, spectacle to behold. 

Njord ordered his children to halt and sniffed the air. Almost lost amongst the overwhelming stench blood, there was life. Using his extraordinary capabilities, Njord expanded the zergling's senses five hundred fold. There, a single survivor crawled. From what Njord had discerned of humans in his lifetime, this creature was "male", a distinction relatively unimportant to the Zerg. Paying little heed to the fact that Zergling was beginning to buckle underneath the psionic strain, Njord observed the Terran's features. 

The man had a round face, but strangely angular features. His hair was jet-black and long, tapering down of broad shoulders. His eyes were gray, almost a reflection of the steel on which he crawled. Judging by human standards, he was relatively tall, perhaps half the height of a hydralisk. He made the Zergling sniff once more, ignoring the fact that its cells were one by one beginning to destroy themselves. The man reeked not only of Zerg blood, but also human, and a surprisingly alien scent: urine. Njord laughed to himself and the Zergling shook. He set the creature off at a lope on dissolving muscles, his other children following diligently behind. 

The veritable army of Zerg approached the human who still clawed futilely at the steel of the platform. Where, exactly, the man hoped to get, particularly at that pace, was a mystery to Njord. The man heard the clicking of the cerebrate's host claws against the ground a mere moment before his children rounded the corner as one. Of course, the man must have known they were coming long ago by the swarm of Mutalisks that hovered above his position in a sort of monstrous cloud. He must have wondered why they did not attack, as well. Perhaps he had even discerned that there was a particular fate in store for him.

Or perhaps Njord was giving the human too much credit. 

The man, spotting the seething mass of Zerg that approached his position, rolled onto his side and raised his guass rifle, probably in some vain ideal that when one is about to die, one should at least take a single enemy down with oneself. Unfortunately for the human, he wouldn't be dying, and he wouldn't take any enemies down with him; he found not only that his ammunition tanks read "000", but that Njord's children had no intention of killing him.

Even with its atrophied muscles, Njord could make the Zergling bound the final twenty feet to land on the man's chest, pinning him to the spot. The man raised the butt of his rifle, evidently moving to strike the cerebrate's host, but a well-timed (and aimed) needle spine from a Hydralisk sent the weapon skittering out of his hands to rest some ten feet away. 

Merely for the benefit of the human, Njord opened the Zergling's mouth and made its vocal cords perform what would normally be impossible: he laughed, spraying the rapidly-dying Zergling's blood in a shower across the man's face. He enjoyed looking into the man's mind, almost tasting the so very present fear there. 

Again, he forced his child's body to do that which would normally be impossible: he forced it to speak. Although entirely unnecessary, a Zergling speaking would be very theatric, and he had gleaned from many infested command center's logs that theatrics could frighten humans more than even the prospect of death.

"Bring him to me," Njord said, every guttural syllable an abomination, "he is not to be harmed." He let out a horrible screeching laugh, and abandoned the Zergling's mind. 

The creature, now devoid of the essence that kept it alive, shattered in a bloody fountain and collapsed onto the man's shallowly rising and falling chest. 

~*~

At his command, the wall of Njord's chamber opened with a soft _gumsh_. Beyond, the hive still bustled with activity, although the battle was long over. Drones still scurried about, carrying precious minerals and vespene that would sustain his forces, and hordes of defenders, albeit unnecessary, clogged the soft, fleshy halls. 

As the cerebrate watched, said defenders of the Hive's main hall parted, revealing a Zergling escorted by two Hydralisks. This was no normal Zergling, however; it was of a strain engineered by Njord himself: a Devouring One. Among the throng, Njord favored these children to all their other siblings. They were designed with consumption in mind, rather than the rending of flesh and metal. Their claws were slightly diminished, but their teeth were like knives, seven inches and serrated. Their chest cavity was hollow, not only to make room for their enlarged stomachs, but also to cradle four rope-like tendrils that were used to hold their prey in place as they were feasted upon. 

However, under Njord's command, the Devouring One was not, in fact, devouring; its tendrils instead held the Terran from the space platform in binds. The Zergling's tendrils constricted his ankles and wrists, pulling him along like a twisted marionette. The four creatures entered Njord's chambers. Gone was the fear from the man's mind; in its stead was a dull sense of lost hope.

**__**

Leave. Njord commanded, and his children rejoiced to oblige. 

The man somehow looked less pathetic now than he had on the platform, although he had been stripped of his armor. It seemed as though now, as he no longer clung to vain hopes, he was stronger. 

**__**

Tell me your name, human, Njord said. The man drew back in shock; he obviously recognized it as the voice that had come from the Zergling earlier that day. Still, he said nothing.

**__**

I said, tell me your name. The man merely continued to stare at his nematode-like form, eyes out of focus.

**__**

TELL ME YOUR NAME! Njord attacked him psionically. The human stumbled backward, clutching his head. His mind, so very frail, nearly quailed then and there; however, Njord wasn't about to spoil his fun in a single instant. 

"Jacob," man stammered in a dry whisper. "Corporal Jacob Yates."

If Njord had had a mouth, he would have smiled sadistically.

**__**

Very good, Jacob. Ah, but that's not what they call you, is it?

The Terran didn't respond. 

**__**

No. No it is not. Your family called you Jake. But the men in your unit called you "pansy." "Coward." "Sissy." 

The man's eyes snapped into focus. "How did you--?" 

**__**

Do you hate me, Jake? Do you hate the Zerg?

Jake stared at the pulsating worm before him. He knew what it was only from the training videos all the military personnel in the UED expedition had been made to watch. It was a cerebrate, a creature that could control the myriad swarms through psionic emanations. Admiral DuGalle had proclaimed them all dead after they had enslaved the Overmind. Clearly, this was not the case.

**__**

Answer me. 

Fearing more psychic retribution, Jake pondered the question.

"Yes," he responded finally, "You've stolen everything from me. My friends, my family, and you would steal my world."

Njord laughed; the psionic sound caused Jake's temples to throb. 

**__**

You think we _stole your friends? Your family? No. We did not steal them._

Jake stared. "What?"

**__**

Do you want to see the truth, Jake? The truth about the Zerg, and your own species?

The corporal's eyes darted through the chamber, as though searching for some shred of understanding. He found nothing.

"Show me," he whispered. 

Njord's chamber dissolved instantly. Black oblivion enveloped him, like an eerie shroud. Where the cerebrate had once been, now stood a mirror image of Jake, except for a single difference: a pulsating, orange aortic tube that ran from his mouth to the base of his spine. This image of himself was, inarguably, infested.

"There are some things you might want to know about your own race, before we begin, Jake," the infested image said.

"Wait," the corporal interrupted, "Who are you?" 

Infested Jake laughed. "I am the cerebrate. But we are in the confines of your mind. Rather dull, isn't it?" the cerebrate smirked. "This is the mental projection I have chosen."

"Fine," the Terran snapped. "Now, what is it that you wanted me to know? About humanity."

"It is humorous. You use the word 'humane' to describe showing kindness where none should be given. And yet, humans are the epitome of inhumanity. You are the only race that rapes, that steals, that lies to its own ends. You are the only race that would brainwash entire masses into service of a few. You are the only race that kills to advance your own personal power. You are, by far, the most brutal race the Swarm has encountered yet."

Jake shook his head. "You make it sound as if we're all lying, back stabbing, cheating bastards. There _are _good people amongst the human race."

Njord smiled sardonically. "Good people like…Admiral DuGalle?" he put a hand underneath Jake's elbow. "Come. Let us see what the good Admiral is up to now." 

~*~

Suddenly Jake was in a spacious chamber. From somewhere nearby, scratchy music played. It was a slow, mournful tune, played on a piano. Jake looked around, until his eyes fell upon a fine, oak desk, where a man in military garb sat at a computer console, evidently writing a letter.

Admiral DuGalle.

"I-I'm sorry sir," the corporal stammered, "I didn't mean to intrude…" but if the admiral heard him, he showed no sign of it.

"Do you want me to leave, sir?" Jake tried again. The admiral continued to ignore him. The older man's eyes remained trained on the telescreen. Jake approached him cautiously. He came to the Admiral's side, and waved his hand energetically in front of DuGalle's face. No response. Deciding that his superior couldn't see him, Jake took the moment to read the letter.

__

Dearest Helena,   
  
By now the news of our defeat has reached the Earth. The  
creatures we were sent here to tame are untamable---And  
the colonies we were sent to reclaim have proven to be  
stronger than we anticipated.   
  
Whatever you may hear about what has happened out here,  
know this: Alexei did not die gloriously in battle. I killed him---my  
pride killed him. And now my pride has consumed me as well.   
  
You will never see me again, Helena.   
  
Tell our children that I love them, and that their father  
died in defense of their future.   
  
Au revoir,

Gerard

Suddenly, from out of the darkness at the Admiral's side, an antique handgun appeared and whipped to his temple.

"NO!" Jake cried, and dove for the gun, but his hand went cleanly through it. Without anything to stop his momentum, Jake launched across the room. An odd sensation came over him as he would have hit the floor, however; instead of stopping, his force continued and he went straight through the sort, velvet carpeting and back into black oblivion.

~*~

"My, my, my," Jake heard his own voice say. He turned around in the darkness to see Njord standing there. "He went and killed himself. Sad, isn't it? That he would rather die than face defeat. Did you know that, of all the races the Swarm has met on the battlefield, that yours is the _only_ one that commits suicide? Weakness."

"Okay, maybe DuGalle wasn't the best example. But there are others who live with honesty and integrity…"

"Oh, you're quite right about that," Njord said, lips curled around a sardonic smile. "There _are_ some who live a good life amongst your race. But let's see what your people do with them…"

There was a sudden rush, as though the howling of a great wind, and Jake felt his feet lift up from the nothingness as he was swept away into another of the cerebrate's twisted displays.

~*~

Jake felt the wind die to a whisper around him. His eyes had been clamped shut out of instinct to protect them from the gusts, although he was quite certain the "wind" was ethereal. The noise, however, didn't leave his ears, as it slowly morphed into the dull roar of static. Jake sat up and opened his eyes. 

Upon first inspection, Jake found himself in the familiar scene of a bunker. The walls were a dead, depressing gray that belied the frenzied action that was taking place within. At three of the bunker's gun ports were marines, their guass rifles pouring out round after round at some unseen enemy. Each one was uttering a loud stream of obscenities that were not immediately discernable amongst the gunfire. However, the figure that truly caught his eye was a woman who stood in the rear, desperately shouting into a comm. Link. 

Had the circumstances been different, Jake would have considered her quite beautiful. Upon close inspection, he found that the woman had deep, sea green eyes and a mane of flame red hair tapered down just past the nape of her neck. Atop her pate what a helmet adorned with goggles so close to the color of her eyes it was eerie. A drop of sweat ran down her brow as she yelled.

"This is Kerrigan. We've neutralized the Protoss, but there's a wave of Zerg advancing on this position. We need immediate evac."

Only static answered her, but Jake barely noticed; his blood had run cold. He was laying eyes now upon the creature that had single-handedly brought the UED fleet to ruins and left the rest of the sector shattered and in dissarray.

The mind tends to demonize its enemies. We tend to forget that each opponent, each foe, is a living, breathing creature. Kerrigan, up until this point, had been mostly a nameless horror to Jake, but now, she was squatted, hunched in front of him, a very human look of fear adorning her features.

"Uh, boys? How about that evac?" Kerrigan said; there was a definite edge of panic to her voice now. 

"Surprising, isn't it?" said a voice, oddly clear amongst the deafening cacophony. Jake whipped around, finding himself suddenly outside the bunker. Zerg forces streamed all round him, even passing through him, as Njord hovered above. 

"This was before even my birth; you see, I was created for the sole purpose of fathering the Queen of Blades."

"You mean to tell me," Jake shouted up, over the din of thundering feet and claws pounding against metal. "That _Kerrigan_ was your example of a decent human?"

Njord laughed, but no mirth reached his eyes. They remained as cold as ever. "But of course. She was abandoned by another prime example of what is wrong with your race: the Emperor, Arcturus Mengsk."

"Mengsk?" Jake roared. "**Mengsk** caused all of this?"

Njord gave no reply, merely laughed again as reality drained away around Jake like sand through an hourglass.

~*~

As the oblivion returned to encompass Jake, he buried his head in his hands, though this did little other than to hide his own infested countenance that appeared before him. 

"Kerrigan was genuinely a good woman, with pure motives." He heard his own voice say. There was an odd tinge about it, almost if there was…sympathy?

"That doesn't happen to everyone who's good," Jake said morosely into his palms. He was beginning to doubt even himself.

"Like your dear, dear grandfather, yes?" Njord said, his tone rapidly changing from piteous to smug. Jake dropped his hands to his side and looked up into his own eyes.

"…What?"

"Idiot creature. I can see inside your mind, have you forgotten? I know that you are an orphan. I know how your parents perished in flames. I know how your grandfather raised you, how he taught you to be a gentleman. That he steered you into the military with the UED. He was the prefect father, wasn't he?"

Jake swallowed a tense knot in his throat. "What are you playing at?"

The darkness around him dissolved once more. It gave way to a night lit by a solitary moon and lonely, twinkling stars. The area where he had appeared seemed isolated, by a large city loomed on the horizon. There was but a single silhouette amongst the weeping willows: the shape of a house.

"It's…no…"

Jake walked closer, the wind whispering eerily in his ears. The humid air seemed to suck at him, pull him back, as though he was not meant to see whatever awaited him at that house. Even the ground, soft and rubbery, seemed to be trying to keep him back.

He came to the house's side, to a window where lights were on inside. A family sat at the dinner table together: A man, a woman, and a boy who looked about five. They were talking and laughing, and the man and the woman kept smiling at one another when the boy looked down to eat.

It was _his_ family.

There was a soft _scchhk _nearby, and a tiny, yellow flame danced into being. Illuminated by the flickering light was the face of his grandfather. The old man bent low and held the match to the side panel. The white wood twisted up, becoming brown and gnarled as tongues of flame licked their way up the wall. His grandfather, trembling, dropped the pack of matches and ran.

"Do you know what the funniest part of this is, Jake?" he heard Njord say as the fire continued to spread. "He had no real reason for doing this. He was merely mentally unstable. As is your whole misbegotten race." Jake couldn't bring himself to look at the cerebrate as his home was engulfed by the fire that would destroy his childhood forever. 

~*~

They say the human psyche bends and twists to absorb the horrors of life. Sometimes it bends so far it snaps in two.

Jacob Yates lost both his mind and his humanity in that chamber. 

He became the first human to defect to a xenomorphic race willingly.

~*~

__

I am the future.

For I am Zerg.


End file.
